


Plaiting A Dark-Red Love-Knot

by hapax (hapaxnym)



Series: Good Omens Filks [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Filk, I Blame Loreena McKennitt, Inspired by Poetry, Inspired by The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 23:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapaxnym/pseuds/hapax
Summary: The wind was a torrent of howling through blocks of brick and stone.The moon was a ghastly stoplight wired on clouds of boneThe street was aglow in the moonlight ‘neath Soho’s garish glare,As a demon’s car came speeding—Speeding—speeding—The demon’s car came speeding, to halt at the bookshop there.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Filks [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209161
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19





	Plaiting A Dark-Red Love-Knot

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to work on my Library AU tonight, but I was ambushed by Loreena McKennitt's drop-dead gorgeous version of "The Highwayman" on my drive home.
> 
> I'm told that ao3 isn't the place for filk, but all my other social media outlets drive me bonkers, so here it goes. If you like it enough to share it, feel free (that's how filk works!); I'd just ask that you tag me, and link back here.

The wind was a torrent of howling through blocks of brick and stone.

The moon was a ghastly stoplight wired on clouds of bone

The street was aglow in the moonlight ‘neath Soho’s garish glare,

As a demon’s car came speeding—

Speeding—speeding—

The demon’s car came speeding, to halt at the bookshop there.

Crimson hair swept off his forehead, silver draped on his chest,

Jacket of soot-black leather, over silken shirt and vest.

They fitted with never a wrinkle. His trousers clung to his thighs

And he strode with a careless saunter,

His swaying hips a-saunter,

Over the kerb he sauntered, ‘neath London’s smoke-stained skies.

Up the steps he clattered, and banged on the bookshop door.

He rapped with his fist on the shutters, but all was locked secure.

He whistled to the first-floor window, and who should be waiting there?

But the bookshop’s blued-eyed owner,

The shop’s angelic owner,

Twisting a golden signet, and raking his white-blond hair,

Disposed to the nearby alley, a Legion demon lurks

Dispatched from Hell for this duty, he peered out from the murk.

His face was twisted in terror, his stiff hair rose in peaks

For he hated every angel—

What did he know of angels?

Sent to spy on an angel, Eric heard the demon speak:

“One chance, mine ancient enemy, to secure Our Side to-night,

If you can decode that prophecy before the morning light;

Heaven may press me sharply, and harry me through the day,

But look for me by moonlight,

Watch for me by moonlight,

I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way.”

He clambered upon the bonnet. He strained to reach a hand,

When the angel leaned out of the casement, face glowing like a brand

A brilliant shadow of pinions, scattering feathery grace,

And he clasped one hand in the moonlight,

(Soft fingers gleam in the moonlight!)

Then he ducked in his car from the moon’s light, and raced out from that place.

**

He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;

And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,

When the street was a blood-red river, with traffic’s evening roar,

Then Heaven’s troops came flying—

Flying—flying—

Archangels came a-flying, straight through the bookshop door.

They said no word to the owner, just ransacked his shelves and books.

They gagged and bound the angel, to his seat by the window nook.

Two of them knelt by the window, and clear in a crystal ewer:

Blest Death to rain from the window;

Holy water from one window;

The angel saw through the window, the road which _he_ ’d drive o’er.

They had tied him fast to his armchair, named him traitor and liar.

They placed a brazier before him, Hell’s flames in a spiral pyre!

“So glad you could join us, Sunshine!” What did the demon say?

_Look for me by moonlight;_

_Watch for me by moonlight;_

_I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way!_

He twisted his hands behind him; but all the ropes held good.

He writhed and worked his fingers, ‘til wet with sweat and blood.

He recalled magician’s training, Houdini’s quick escapes;

Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,

Cold, on the stroke of midnight,

The tip of one finger touched it! The trick to the knotted shapes!

The tip of one finger touched it. He bade farewell to the world.

Then calmly sat and waited, Hell-fire smoked and swirled.

He would not risk their hearing; he would not waste a breath;

For the street was lit with the moonlight;

Electric neon and moonlight;

And the blood of his veins, in the moonlight, burned at approaching death.

_vooOORR varoom!_ Had they heard it? The sound of a Bentley’s roar?

 _vooOORR varoom,_ in the distance? Impossible to ignore!

Down the river of moonlight, through stoplights red and green,

The demon’s car came speeding—

Speeding—speeding—

Archangels prepared for the flooding! He sat, still and serene.

_vooOORR varoom_ , over London’s bustle! _vooOORR varoom_ , over midnight noise!

Nearer it came and nearer. His face was set and poised.

His eyes flashed gold for a moment; he offered a pitying gaze,

Then he stepped into the Hell-fire,

Walked right into Hell-fire,

Threw himself in the pyre as a warning; as it gleefully leapt and blazed.

He stomped on the brakes, reversed gears. He did not know the rest:

A flame-red figure blazing, hands clasped upon his breast;

Not till the dawn when they taunted, more than his heart could bear;

How bookshop’s angel owner,

The blue-eyed pale-haired owner,

Had watched for his own in the moonlight, and burned in the darkness there.

He tore down the roads like a madman, sobbing a curse to the sky,

With tyres squealing beneath him, the car almost seemed to fly.

But Hell had readied an ambush; seized him and stripped him bare;

And sentenced him to Holy Water,

To bathe in Holy Water,

Doomed to die in the Water; Heaven watched but did not care.

**

_And yet of an autumn evening, when the wind blows soft and sweet,_

_When the moon is a ghostly lantern, that gently lights the street,_

_When London glows in the moonlight, and Soho’s glitter sparks_

_A demon’s car comes speeding—_

_Speeding—speeding—_

_The demon’s car comes speeding, to the bookshop’s kerb and parks._

_Up the steps he saunters, and jingles the bookshop bell._

_He dares a peak through the shutters, and all seems safe and well._

_The door flings wide in welcome, and who should be smiling there?_

_But the bookshop’s blue-eyed owner,_

_The shop’s angelic owner,_

_Taking the arm of his demon, and stroking his dark red hair._

**Author's Note:**

> You can listen to McKennitt's version here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ixi4jz0Gn4E
> 
> Really, can you blame me?


End file.
